


Available

by infiniteeight



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - D/s, Anal Plug, Come play, Exhibitionism, M/M, Made For Each Other, Power Dynamics, Relationship Negotiation, insertables
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has a pretty unusual profile, when it comes to submissiveness, dominance, and kinks. He's pretty much given up on finding the right dom for him. And then there's Coulson.</p>
<p>This is a D/s AU, but it's a pretty mild one -- it's really more like a 'verse in which everyone is kinky and someone created a really effective matchmaking service.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Available

Clint sat slouched in the chair before Coulson's desk, arms crossed over his chest, scowl fixed firmly in place. He'd had this conversation before--never with Coulson, but only because, despite working together often, Coulson had only been his official handler for three months--and he was done being polite about it.

"You've just come off a week of leave," Coulson said, and this was already familiar, "and yet you're just as tense and bottled up as you were before." Coulson gave him a long look. "If not more so."

"I don't like being idle," Clint said shortly. "You want me relaxed? Give me my fucking bow and something to shoot."

"As much as I hate to bring alignment into this--" Coulson ventured, and yup, they were sticking to the script, "are you sure you were characterized correctly?"

Clint blinked and straightened up, because that was different. "What do you mean?" he asked, because surely Coulson couldn't be suggesting--

Coulson frowned and nudged the papers of Clint's file, on the desk in front of him, into a neater stack. "I've just never met a Personal Submissive who gets more ease from working than they get from a session with their dom, not even those who are also Professionally Dominant, as you are."

"I don't have a dom," Clint said. Did all his handlers assume he was partnered? Christ, that would explain a lot. "I'm single."

Coulson stared at him for a moment. "But...the Service," he said. "And you're thirty-six years old. I've never met anyone over the age of twenty who wasn't at least casually partnered."

"Thanks for reminding me what a freak I am," Clint snapped, stomach twisting. "How do you not know all this shit? My entire profile is in my file."

"It's there for completeness," Coulson said, "but most handlers don't look past the summary score unless it becomes mission relevant, for reasons of privacy."

Clint rubbed both hands over his face, then sighed. "Suddenly a few things make a lot more sense. Well, apparently it's become mission relevant. Go ahead." He waved a hand at his file. "Read it."

Coulson looked at him for a long moment. Clint was normally pretty protective of his privacy, but fuck, it really _was_ mission relevant, and if he couldn't trust Coulson to be professional about it, then who could he trust? Clint had been so fucking pleased when his promotion three months ago had made him senior enough to be assigned to Coulson permanently; he'd hoped they wouldn't have the same sort of friction Clint had had with his other handlers. This wasn't how he'd expected to resolve that, but whatever. So Clint nodded confirmation and watched while Coulson flipped his file open and turned to a section near the end.

Clint knew what it said, of course. The Service, which matched doms and subs, had made cataloging their needs systematic. There were three scales: Personal Alignment, Professional Alignment, and Complexity. The first two were a scale of 0 to 10 rating your alignment in your private life and in interactions at work or with strangers, with 0 being most submissive and 10 being most dominant. Clint was 0/8 (Personal/Professional), which was weird enough--there were plenty of Personal Subs who were Professionally Dom and vice versa, but the swing was normally around four points, maybe six if you were pushing it. Clint had never met anyone else with an eight point swing. But on top of that, there was his Complexity score.

Complexity was the polite name for "degree of kinkiness". The Service kept a list of all the kinks, fetishes, and paraphilias enjoyed by the doms and subs registered with them. People were pretty inventive, which made it an ever-growing list, so while The Service had each member's complete list of kinks cataloged (and fuck, but getting through that set of check boxes every five years took forever), Complexity was, ironically, simplified. Instead of a score out of several hundred, they split the big list of kinks into six parts. Part one was twenty of the most common kinks, and you got one point for each one that you were into. Parts two through six were themed groups of the rest of the big list, and you got one point for each group that you had any kinks in. So a score of 25 meant that you were into all twenty common kinks, plus at least one in each of the themed groups.

Generally speaking, the closer you were to either end of the Personal Submissiveness scale, 0 or 10, the higher your Complexity score was. With a Personal rating of 0, Clint would normally be expected to have a Complexity score of at least fifteen. He once met a woman with a personal rating of 1 whose Complexity was just 5, and she was pretty sheepish about it.

Clint's Complexity score was 2. (Exhibitionism and come play, for the record.) There were things he didn't mind, particularly, but they didn't turn him on.

Sometimes, Clint hated The Service, because if they weren't so fucking good at matching up doms and subs, maybe Clint would be able to find someone willing to work with his odd alignment. But The Service was that good, and doms didn't need to make the kind of compromises they'd need to for him, which meant Clint hadn't had sex in six years, and hadn't been properly down in sub-space for even longer.

Coulson was unfalteringly neutral while reading Clint's characterization, and he was still neutral when he closed the file and sat back and looked at Clint, even though he couldn't ever have seen anything like Clint's 0/8/2 score before. Clint looked back at him and waited, though he wasn't sure what he was waiting for. Coulson couldn't fire him for being single. It wasn't his fault he didn't have anyone to blow off steam with.

Eventually Clint shrugged. "You want me to relax, give me my bow and a challenge on the range," he repeated. "But don't send me home to an empty apartment."

Coulson's fingers drummed, once. "I have another option," he said. "But it's... Well. There is absolutely no obligation on your part, but..." Coulson opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out a file, extracted a few pages from the back, and slid them across the desk to Clint.

It was Coulson's Service profile.

Clint's eyebrows went up when he saw the summary score at the top, because while he'd pegged Coulson's Professional rating correctly at 6, he never would have guessed that Coulson was a Personal 10. Better yet, his Complexity was a mere 8. That was low enough that maybe Clint wouldn't mind his kinks. Surely Coulson wouldn't have offered his file if they were incompatible... Clint glanced up at Coulson, whose expression hadn't even cracked, and flipped the page to see the details of that 8. Exhibitionism and come play were both on there, plus marking, dirty talk, leather, sloppy seconds (a pretty natural fit with come play, really), insertables, and washing. So close to perfect... Clint bit his lip and asked, reluctantly, "Marking?" He wanted to say he could handle it, but if Coulson wanted to leave welts or bruises, even hickeys...no.

"Any kind of mark," Coulson said quickly. "I've enjoyed leaving bruises in the past, but not any more than writing on the skin in permanent marker, or having my partner wear jewelry I've given them." He lowered his voice slightly. "Come play also ties into it, seeing my come on my partner's skin or face."

A spark of heat ignited low in Clint's belly. He licked his lips, watching Coulson's eyes follow the motion. "I could work with that. But...you said you didn't know anyone who wasn't partnered? That includes yourself, I assume."

"I said 'at least casually' partnered," Coulson reminded him. "My current arrangement is the definition of casual. She regularly plays with at least one other dom, and we're not especially compatible outside of the bedroom." Coulson paused. "I think you and I could be. We've always had a good connection and," he flushed slightly and took on a confessional tone, "I like you."

"I knew you only objected to the comm chatter for form's sake," Clint teased with a grin. "But...if we're compatible, why haven't we matched before now?" He frowned at Coulson's file for a moment. "People act like the Service is infallible. I was beginning to think there didn't exist a dom that was a fit for me."

"It's not infallible, but that's not the reason," Coulson said. "My matches are restricted by security clearance, and you made Level 5 three months ago--a month after the last match distribution. I imagine we'll both get a contact two months from now, if we're still listed as available by then."

The thought that they might _not_ be listed as available made Clint swallow down a surge of hope. "Are any of these non-negotiable?" he asked, tapping Coulson's list of kinks.

"None of them are non- _negotiable_ ," Coulson said. He went on with an apologetic edge, "But...the dirty talk is non-optional. I've never been able to get off if I can't talk to my partner."

"Can you do it without insults?" Clint asked hopefully. "I just...I don't want to be called a slut or a whore, and I _really_ don't want to be told I'm worthless or any of that shit."

"Not a problem," Coulson hurriedly assured him. "My brand of dirty talk runs to praise and plans, anyway. You just tell me if you don't like any of it."

Clint ran a thumb down Coulson's Service profile. He'd never seen a match so close to being right for him, despite the occasional ping during a match distribution. None of those had gotten past an initial discussion, and the idea of having a dom to put him down, to find that clear, open mental space again. God, he wanted that, but how could the two of them manage it, with their particular preferences? Clint couldn't see it.

But Clint wasn't the only one involved here.

"Do you have thoughts about how this would work?" Clint's smiled turned wry. "Because I have to admit, even when I imagined finding a dom that wanted what I have to give, I couldn't figure out how they were going to make me _feel_ like a sub without any of the usual trappings."

Coulson ran warm, speculative eyes over Clint. "Believe me," he said, "the right series of orders, in the right context, can be just as effective as bondage or pain. But while orders and obedience are certainly an option, I have another suggestion."

Maybe, maybe... "I've liked pretty much all your suggestions so far," Clint said.

Coulson leaned forward. "I've thought, in the past, about having a partner who shows their submissiveness to me through...availability." Coulson swallowed hard, his face going a bit pink. He was turned on, Clint realized. He gestured for Coulson to go on. "I've thought about having my sub wear a plug for me, all the time, so that they'd be open and ready for me to slide into them whenever I wanted." He took a quick breath and gathered himself. "Of course, they could take it out if it was uncomfortable or if they really couldn't get away with it while at work, but ideally they'd wear it whenever they weren't sleeping or being fucked."

Clint thought about that, about having a constant reminder that there was a dom out there who wanted Clint so much that he had to have Clint ready for him all the time. When he spoke, his voice was husky. "How would that work with me being Professionally dom?"

Coulson licked his lips quickly. "Your body is Personal territory, work is otherwise Professional?" he suggested. "Obviously you wouldn't wear it at all when we're on assignment, or when training."

"Not for most training," Clint agreed, "but I could wear it when I was shooting." He caught Coulson's eye. "You could watch me working with the bow and know that my ass is slick and open and ready for you."

Coulson didn't quite swallow the moan that elicited. "Would you be all right with me actually fucking you at work? I wouldn't have to, if that's crossing the Professional line, just knowing you're ready for me would be amazing. But it would be even more powerful if I could actually take advantage of that availability sometimes."

"No interrupting me while I'm training with someone else," Clint said firmly. "And no making it about work--if you're going to fuck me, it better be because you want me and not because you're manipulating me professionally."

"Of course."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Clint licked his lips. "I don't suppose you just happen to have a plug rolling around in your desk drawer, do you?"

Coulson laughed, and shook his head regretfully. "Unfortunately, no. But we could go shopping after work, and then you could come over to my place and we could make dinner, and watch a movie, and maybe at some point during the evening I'll decide I want to make proper use of you, my own." He raised an inquiring eyebrow, maybe for the whole plan, maybe just for the pet name. Clint didn't care which, it all sounded good.

"Yeah," he said. "I like the sound of that plan."

"Perfect."

Clint slid the pages of Coulson's Service profile back across the desk. "Meet you back here at five?" he suggested. "I gotta go distract myself or the anticipation will kill me."

Coulson laughed and nodded. "I understand completely. Five is good."

Clint nodded and got himself out of Coulson's office before his growing arousal could become embarrassingly apparent. He took himself down to the range first, but with his suggestion about wearing Coulson's plug while shooting fresh in his mind, he couldn't focus the way he usually did. After half an hour, he gave up and tucked himself into his cubicle and started reviewing the range master's latest training plan for the Junior agents.

Technically the file was supposed to be evaluated by a Level 6 agent, but when Fury discovered that the range master had been "casually" discussing "a few thoughts" with Clint anyway, he'd decided that if Clint was going to going to help shape their training regimens, he was damn well going to do the paperwork for it, too. Clint knew it was supposed to discourage him from bending the rules, but frankly, knowing that he was strong enough in this area that _Fury_ would bend _SHIELD's_ rules about the clearances to get him on it was a professional rush. Plus, sometimes Clint needed to engage his brain instead of his body. Like now.

It was a good enough distraction to get him to five, but Clint wasn't about to waste any time, so he was packed up and on his way to Coulson's office at five minutes to. When he knocked and opened Coulson's door at five on the nose, he found Coulson snapping his briefcase shut and standing from his desk. Their eyes met and Coulson smiled; Clint licked his lips, an anticipatory surge of warmth going through him.

Coulson led the way to the store, taking public transportation since neither of them was keen on dealing with New York traffic during rush hour. Halfway there, Clint realized it hadn't even occurred to him to find somewhere for them to shop, he'd just assumed Coulson would take care of it. _Part of being Personally Sub,_ he told himself, but it was still odd. Shouldn't he be in the habit of taking care of things himself?

Something must have changed in his expression, because Coulson's expression took on an edge of concern. He took a step closer, close enough that the sway of the subway brushed their bodies together, and murmured, "Something wrong?"

Clint shook his head. "Just getting used to the idea of not being on my own."

Coulson smiled and didn't step away again.

The sex shop was a lot bigger than Clint had been expecting. It was more like a sporting goods place than something dedicated to intimacy. He looked over the displays of swings and harnesses and suspension rigs and bondage gear in a hundred different configurations and shot Coulson a skeptical glance.

Coulson put a warm, broad hand in the small of Clint's back and steered him through the store. "That stuff is showy, expensive, and popular," he said. "Of course it's at the front. But there is a good selection for those of us with other tastes, and boutique shops generally only have insertables meant for short term play. We need something else."

Eventually they emerged from the maze of bondage gear and into a somewhat more open area lined on three sides with glass shelves. A dizzying array of dildos, vibrators, plugs, strap ons, and harnesses were laid out before them. The size of some of them made Clint blanch, but Coulson steered him firmly towards a shelf of plugs with longer necks than most of the others. "These are designed to be left in longer," he said, his voice quiet, intimate. "Do any of them look interesting to you?"

Aside from the long neck they had in common, these plugs also came in an array of shapes, sizes, and materials. There were at least two dozen of them, and Clint...well, he didn't particularly care, as long as it was comfortable. He looked over at Coulson, who was eyeing the collection with considerably more interest, his thumb rubbing unconscious circles into the small of Clint's back. "Which one would you most like to see inside me?" Clint asked, and Coulson caught his breath. A flush of satisfaction went through Clint.

Coulson considered the display for a moment longer. "Something basic, I think," he said, his tone warm. "Silicone, for a softer texture. Smaller, for comfort--you're new to this, and I want the toy to make you think about _me_ , not about having a toy inside you." Clint watched Coulson's gaze running eagerly over the toys as he spoke and felt heat bloom in his belly. Eventually Coulson reached out and touched one of the toys. Clint had expected him to go for something elegant--if the glass and metal ones were out for materials reasons, maybe something in a sleek black--but the toy he'd selected was a sparkly, swirled blue. "Okay?" Coulson asked, looking over at him.

Clint thought about having the toy inside him. He thought about walking around at work knowing that Coulson knew he was wearing it, this pretty, sparkly thing that Coulson had picked out for him. His dick stirred. "Yeah, that one's good," Clint said, his voice a bit lower than usual.

Coulson smiled and turned away from the display to find a sales associate. One appeared like magic before he could take a step to go looking, retrieved a boxed toy, and guided them cheerfully to the till. Coulson paid, but instead of hurrying them out of the shop, after, he asked the cashier if the shop had a back room.

"For application, yes," she said. Then, almost apologetically, "No fucking in the shop."

"Of course not," Coulson assured her. Before Clint quite knew what was happening, Coulson had guided him back through the aisles and through a discreet door. The room beyond had a small, padded bench, a full length mirror, and a sink, but no bed. Probably to discourage fucking, Clint thought dizzily. It wasn't even soundproofed. His slowly building arousal bloomed at the thought of what they could get away with in here, with customers just outside, obliviously shopping.

Coulson locked the door and turned around. "How are you doing?" His brow creased when Clint didn't immediately respond. "Do you need some time? I really meant all the time, but if you want to work up to it in private--"

"No, no, it's okay," Clint said quickly. He swallowed and ducked his head, glancing up at Coulson. "I'm feeling like a sub for the first time in a really long time."

Coulson's eyes darkened and something changed in his posture. He set the box containing the plug down on the bench, stepped in close to Clint, and curled one hand around the back of Clint's neck. Clint's eyelids drooped and he sucked in a breath. A moment later Coulson's mouth caught his and Clint moaned, opening to the kiss. Coulson pressed against him and Clint found himself backed up against the sink, his legs instinctively parting to let Coulson between them. Coulson didn't push any further, just kissed him wet and hungry and deep.

Eventually the kiss shallowed and Coulson pulled away with a last flick of his tongue across Clint's lips. Clint closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the throb of arousal through his body, before meeting Coulson's gaze again. "I believe you bought me something."

Coulson smiled. "That I did." He turned to the bench and picked up the box, quickly and neatly extracting it from the packaging. Turning back to Clint, he put his hands on Clint's hips and firmly guided him away from the sink. Clint sat obediently on the bench and watched as Coulson quickly but thoroughly cleaned the toy at the sink, rinsing it thoroughly before setting it aside and opening a bottle of lube, acquired on the way to the cash, and breaking the seal.

He set that aside, too, and turned back to Clint, holding out his hand. Clint took it and let Coulson pull him to his feet again. "Do you use red, yellow, and green, or is something else better?"

Clint shook his head. "I've used the stop lights," he said, "but I'd rather just let stop mean stop and no mean no, if that's okay."

"Of course." Coulson leaned in and kissed him quickly and God, that was good. Clint leaned into it a bit, but didn't chase Coulson when he pulled away. "Turn around, bend a bit, and hold onto the sink," he instructed.

Clint did as he was ordered, placing his feet shoulder width apart. There was a mirror above the sink in addition to the full length one, and he found himself ducking way from his own flushed, anticipatory expression.

Coulson stepped in close to him, his groin pressed flush against Clint's ass, and brought his hands around to open Clint's fly. "It's okay," he murmured into Clint's ear, lips brushing the lobe. "You just relax and let me take care of everything."

"Yessir," Clint breathed, almost slurring in his eagerness. Coulson was hard against his ass, and his hands with quick and certain as he opened Clint's pants. Clint couldn't help but whine when Coulson stepped back again, but a quick stroke of Coulson's hands down his hips as he pushed Clint's clothes down soothed him.

"You are exquisite," Coulson said, hands resting lightly on Clint's hips, and Clint had to laugh, because exquisite? That was a word for pretty, delicate things. Coulson seemed to hear the disbelief, or maybe scorn, in the breath of amusement, because he went on. "You are. Your body is sculpted and trained with one overwhelming priority in mind, and it makes you finely tuned in a way no other agent I've known is. Every part of you reminds me of the things you can do." He paused, then drew one hand around Clint's hip to palm the curve of his ass. "And it doesn't hurt that you're shaped just right to fit into the cradle of my hips." Clint moaned and Coulson sighed. "Unfortunately...no sex in the shop. We have other business, anyway."

Coulson reached past Clint and picked up the lube off the edge of the sink. Clint closed his eyes and breathed, listening for the click off the cap and waiting, waiting. Coulson didn't tease, and soon there was a firm, slick finger rubbing gently over Clint's opening, making sure he was relaxed and spreading the lube around before sinking into him. Clint found himself leaning into the touch, the steady certainty of it.

"So tight," Coulson murmured as he worked his finger in and out, spreading the lube deep inside Clint. "Do you not finger yourself when you play?"

"No," Clint gasped.

"Why not?" Coulson asked. He teased Clint's rim for a while before withdrawing, only to return with two fingers. Clint let out a high, breathy _oh_ of pleasure as his body eased open. "You obviously enjoy it, and this sweet, lovely little hole of yours doesn't deserve to be neglected."

It took Clint a moment to catch his breath for a reply. "I-- _ah_ \--always felt like that should belong to my dom, sir," he managed. Coulson's fingers twisted, carefully avoiding Clint's prostate, and he couldn't help the way his hips twitched back onto Coulson's hand. "It felt wrong to open myself up with no one to take advantage."

"Oh, Clint," Coulson said, but his voice was warm, his fingers pushing in deep. "You'd almost think we hadn't only just decided that your body was Personal territory; you've been treating it that way." He paused and hummed thoughtfully. "One more finger, I think. You're very tight."

"Sorry?" Clint offered.

Coulson chuckled. "No need to apologize." He gave Clint a final rub with two fingers before withdrawing them, adding more lube, and pushing back in with three. "I want you to feel good when my plug slides into you. I want you to feel like you're welcoming it, that it's filling up a space that's been empty for too long." Coulson cupped Clint's hip in his free hand, slowly working three fingers in and out of Clint. "I want you to be just as excited as I am, the first time you bend over for me and expose the plug nestled between your cheeks, keeping you open and ready for me."

Clint moaned, a shiver running through him. Coulson either decided that meant he was ready, or couldn't bear to wait anymore, because his fingers slipped out of Clint and he quickly picked up the plug that lay on the edge of the sink by Clint's hand. A moment passed while Coulson coated it with lube, and then one hand was back on Clint's hip. "Relax and bear down for me," he murmured.

Clint obeyed, and a moment later he felt the tip of the plug at his entrance. Coulson pushed it in slowly but steadily, and Clint breathed carefully and deeply as he stretched around the thickest part of the plug. It narrowed quickly after that and he felt himself relax as it settled inside him, his hole clenching a bit around the neck of it.

"That's good, that's perfect." Coulson rubbed Clint's hip approvingly. "Straighten up now. How does it feel?"

Clint slowly pushed himself upright. He caught his breath as the plug shifted inside him, but it wasn't painful. Not painful at all. It wasn't a big toy by any means, but there was still a fullness to it, a sense of presence. _Coulson's presence,_ Clint told himself. His cock, still hard, throbbed. "It's good."

Coulson smiled like he knew exactly what Clint meant. "Can you walk out of here without coming??

Clint licked his lips. "Tell me not to come, and I won't."

Coulson's eyes darkened. "For today, don't come," he said. "Not until I say you can."

Clint let out a last, soft moan, and then closed his eyes and steadied his breathing and took firm hold of his control. His erection didn't flag, not in the least, but by the time he opened his eyes again he was confident that he could move around without losing control. He met Coulson's eyes and let out a slow breath. "Okay. I'm good."

"Yes, you are," Coulson said warmly. Clint couldn't help flushing and ducking his head at the praise, because that wasn't what he'd meant at all. But Coulson knew that, and he'd clearly meant what _he'd_ said.

Coulson guided Clint out of the bathroom, and then out of the store, with a proprietary hand on the small of his back.

That was the moment that Clint realized he was going to be riding the subway wearing the plug. He felt his face heat slightly even as some neglected part of him swelled with pride at having something to give his dom. 

Coulson didn't speak as they reached the subway station and descended towards the train, presumably letting Clint have time to adjust to the movements of the plug as he walked, but his hand remained solid and encouraging on Clint's back. Just before the train arrived, wind whistling in the tunnel as it approached, Coulson leaned in close and murmured, "The sway and rattle of the car over the tracks might be intense. You just hang onto me, if you need to."

Clint nodded, and then a thought dawned, and he might have gone still if Coulson wasn't hustling him onto the train, his body positioned so that no one jostled Clint too hard.

"Insertables" could mean _wearing_ them as well as using them.

It certainly sounded like Coulson had personal experience. Had he worn something to work? Surely not, not if he'd suggested Clint wear one to show his submissiveness. Except it hadn't been about the wearing of the plug, it had been about being _available_ , and Coulson liked insertables for their own sake, so maybe he just liked how they felt, solid inside, sliding a little against his rim...

Clint let out an uneven breath and leaned against Coulson, chest to chest, their temples brushing. 

Coulson lifted his hand from the small of Clint's back--the other was hanging onto a pole to steady them for the subway ride--and rested it on the back of Clint's neck instead. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Clint murmured. Coulson's hand felt good, calming. Clint let out another breath and felt himself slowly relax, some of his arousal subsiding. "I'll tell you when we get to your place," he went on, because he might have an exhibitionism kink, but that didn't mean he wanted all the strangers on the bus to know the details of Coulson's Service profile.

The rest of the trip to Coulson's apartment passed quietly. Clint wasn't in a haze, wasn't down in sub-space, because a crowded subway car wasn't the sort of place he could relax, but with Coulson's hand resting on the back of his neck he felt calm, centered. Even the rattle and sway of the subway stirring the plug inside him couldn't throw him off; it was Coulson's plug, it was an extension of his touch. By the time they left the subway and walked the few blocks to Coulson's home, the occasional sparks of pleasure as the plug teased Clint's rim or brushed his prostate had spread into a kind of warm background glow.

Clint had never really thought about Coulson's apartment before, but if he'd been asked, he'd probably have said it was rigorously clean, a place for everything and everything in its place. In reality, it wasn't like that at all. It wasn't exactly messy, but it was definitely lived in. There was a pile of shoes just inside the door--Clint's combat boots and Phil's loafers joined them--and a blanket untidily draped over the back of the couch. A few papers lay scattered over the coffee table, dishes sat in a drainer by the sink, and Clint spotted two beer bottles abandoned in corners of the living room.

 

Coulson brought Clint with him to the kitchen, where he got a couple of cokes out of the fridge before taking them both back to the living room.

"Dinner?" Clint asked, uncertainly.

"We'll get there," Coulson promised, sitting on the couch. "But we haven't spent much personal time together. I thought we should get used to touching each other." He used the remote to turn on the TV--some renovation show--and held out his arm, inviting Clint into it. Clint sat, catching his breath at the pressure on the plug.

"Okay?" Coulson asked.

Clint let out a shaky breath. "Yeah." He moved carefully into the curve of Coulson's arm and leaned slowly against him. 

Coulson's arm settled securely around Clint. "You were going to tell me something," he reminded Clint.

Clint felt himself blush. He kept his eyes on the TV, thought he wasn't really watching it. "On the subway. I wondered if 'insertables' meant using them on yourself as well as on your sub."

Coulson hummed. "I have, yes. Not often--a sub looks so much more beautiful all filled up. But I have." His hand drifted up, rubbing a thumb over the back of Clint's neck. "Would you like us to do that some time? We could use a double ended dildo; I'd hold still and you'd have to fuck yourself nice and hard to get it moving inside me."

Clint shivered and closed his eyes, pressing closer against Coulson. "Yes. I'd like that."

"Noted," Coulson said, and there was something very certain about the word. Warmth spread through Clint at the idea that there would be a time, later, for them to try new things. He'd never had a dom last that long. But Coulson...he thought Coulson might. Eyes still closed, Clint let himself enjoy the warmth of Coulson pressed against his side, and the weight of his hand on the nape of Clint's neck, and the plug holding him open. He drifted, not paying attention to the TV, not bothering with the drink Coulson had brought.

Eventually, the hand on his neck squeezed, and Clint roused, blinking his eyes open and looking up at Coulson, but not moving away just yet.

Coulson smiled at him, rubbing his neck briefly. "Come help me with dinner."

Clint sighed a little, but straightened up and stretched languidly. "Okay."

Coulson stood and gave Clint a hand up off the couch. Not that he really needed it, but contact seemed to be the word for the night.

In the kitchen, Coulson planted Clint by one of the counters and started retrieving an array of ingredients from the fridge and freezer. Clint mostly stayed out of his way, at least until Coulson gave him a specific task. Clint had never actually done this before--cooked with anyone, that is. In the circus they'd had a cook, someone who'd known how to wring every last penny's worth of value out of their modest food budget and who organized the roster of domestic chores with an iron fist. Joining SHIELD had given Clint the means and opportunity to acquire a tiny apartment with an even tinier kitchen of his very own, but he had no one to cook for. Most of the time he ate in the SHIELD mess or nuked a frozen dinner just because it was more convenient.

It was nice. Coulson didn't speak except to instruct Clint in what he needed next, and Clint followed suit. The quiet was comfortable, lending something like focus to the simple task of preparing food. Coulson kept up the contact, too. He brushed quick touches over Clint's shoulders and the small of his back frequently. Coulson also occasionally let his hand trail down from the small of Clint's back to cup the curve of Clint's ass; Clint had to pause in his task every time, waves of warmth going through him as the touch brought his attention back to the plug in his ass. He kept waiting, shooting the occasional sidelong glance at Coulson, wondering if dinner preparation would be paused for more...exciting activities.

But they made it all the way through the preparations without incident. Clint mixed the last ingredient into the pasta salad and watched while Phil unlocked the blender he'd been using to make soup from its base. Clint waited for him to pour it into a pot to heat, but instead he poured it into a glass bowl.

"Sir?" Clint asked, only becoming more confused when Phil picked up both bowls--pasta and soup--and turned set them in the fridge.

Coulson turned back to Clint and smiled. "Both of those dishes are meant to be served cold; the soup is a gazpacho." He stepped up to Clint and put his arms around him, one hand sliding down to palm Clint's ass. "And I have something else waiting for me." He pressed down, just enough to make the plug shift, and Clint moaned. "Come with me."

"Yes, sir," Clint said. Coulson let his hands slip from Clint's hips, catching Clint's hand along the way, and drew Clint out of the kitchen and across the living room. Pushing open a door there, he led Clint into his bedroom. Coulson stopped at the end of the bed and turned to face Clint, using their clasped hands to draw him in. He curled his other hand around the back of Clint's neck and pulled him into a kiss.

Clint sank into it, letting the hand on the back of his neck ground him as he gave himself up to the heat of Coulson's mouth. Between that grip and the fullness of the plug inside him, the presence of a dom was a low, quiet chord of pleasure thrumming through him. When Coulson broke the kiss, lips clinging for a moment, Clint nuzzled at his jaw.

"You're already ready for me, aren't you, my own?" Coulson murmured. His hands drifted down to Clint's fly, slowly slipping the button and fondling the zipper open. "You've had that plug inside you for hours, I bet you're all warm and relaxed, comfortable with being filled, being spread open."

"Yes, sir," Clint said, nibbling lightly at Coulson's throat. "But you could open me more."

"Mmmm, and fill you up better," Coulson agreed, sliding his hand into Clint's pants and squeezing his cock. Clint was only half hard, but his dick swelled rapidly at Coulson's touch. "Oh, that's perfect, you just filled my hand up nicely." Coulson squeezed again and Clint groaned a little, hanging onto Coulson as he pushed into his hand, hardening the rest of the way under the rasp of Coulson's calluses and the teasing slide of the smooth pads of his fingers over the head of Clint's cock. 

"Let's see what else you have waiting for me," Coulson said, smiling warmly. He let go of Clint's cock in favor of pushing down his pants and boxer briefs. Clint reluctantly pulled away so that he could step out of the clothes pooled around his ankles. Coulson hardly waited for him to kick them away before taking hold of Clint's hips again and leaning in for a quick kiss. With firm hands, he turned Clint to face the bed and pressed a palm between his shoulder blades, bending Clint over, his hands braced on the uncertain surface of the mattress, his ass raised. A flush of warmth ran through Clint and he shuffled his feet apart to better display his ass and the plug resting between his cheeks.

Coulson let out a pleased sigh. "Look at that. You're perfect, spreading yourself out for me, showing me how ready you are." He pulled on the plug, just enough to press the bulb of it against Clint's rim, and twisted it slowly.

Clint moaned. He licked his lips. Coulson liked dirty talk, right? And Clint liked showing off. "I _am_ ready, sir," he said, a little breathless. "I've been ready for you since you gave me your fingers in the shop. You could have bent me over any time in the last two hours and had me, just slid right inside me, I'm so slick and open."

It was Coulson's turn to moan, then. He put a hand on Clint's hip and pulled slowly on the plug, drawing it out until Clint's rim was stretched around the widest part of the bulb and then...pausing. Clint caught his breath as the stretch extended into a low burn. It didn't hurt so much as it demanded his attention. _Coulson_ demanded his attention. Clint let out a long, shaky sigh and dropped his head, sliding into that comfortable, open headspace that he hadn't touched in... God, it felt like forever.

"Beautiful," Coulson murmured, slowly drawing the plug out of Clint's body. Clint wondered hazily if Coulson meant the sight of his ass releasing the plug, or the way Clint had slipped into sub-space. It didn't matter, though--Coulson was pleased, and Clint was warm and floating in a sea of pleasure and certainty that he was in the right place, doing what he was meant to be doing. 

Coulson set the plug aside and stepped away from Clint for a moment to retrieve a bottle of lube and a condom from the bedside table. Clint held position, pride and pleasure rushing through him when Coulson paused after sliding the bedside table drawer shut to appreciate the sight. "So proud to display yourself," Coulson said, and Clint flushed, but didn't move--it was an approving statement, not a chiding one. Coming back to Clint's side, Coulson held lube and condom in one hand while he ran the other over Clint's flank. "And you should be," he went on. "You're worth displaying, and you do it so well, despite having so little practice. But don't worry," Coulson moved behind him, hand trailing over to Clint's ass, "I'll make sure you have plenty of opportunities from now on."

A faint rustle cued Coulson opening the condom, and a few moments later a _click_ betrayed the opening of the lube. Two slick fingers pressed easily into Clint's hole, already accustomed to being stretched by the plug. Clint moaned softly as his body surrendered itself to Coulson, heat running up his spine, his cock throbbing, pre-come beading at the tip. Coulson hummed in satisfaction. "I think I _could_ slide right into you," he said, twisting his fingers. He just barely grazed Clint's prostate, the momentary flare of pleasure as much a promise of things to come as a sensation. "In fact," Coulson went on, "I think I will."

" _Yes,_ " Clint breathed as Coulson's fingers left him. He didn't have to wait long before Coulson pressed his cock into Clint, first the flared head, then the thick shaft, inch by inch taking possession of Clint's ass. The heat of him became a focal point for Clint's floating, easy pleasure, concentrating it, until all of Clint's attention was bent on the throb of Coulson's cock. Clint let his hips and thighs relax, now that he wasn't displaying, and moaned happily as his ass tucked into the curve of Coulson's hips, taking Coulson's cock deeper inside him

"That's good," Coulson gasped, his hands settling on Clint's hips and gripping, almost like he needed to steady himself. "Oh, that's perfect, yes, just let me..." His words trailed off, but he didn't need them, the roll of his hips speaking for him. Coulson groaned wordlessly as he thrust into Clint, and between the hot pleasure of being fucked and the sheer satisfaction that swept through him at Coulson's reaction, Clint wasn't at all sure how long he'd last. Licking his lips, he squeezed down on Coulson, hoping to bring him along for the ride.

"Oh!" Coulson's fingers tightened on Clint's hips. He gave Clint a smooth, deep thrust. "Oh, you're that eager, are you?"

"Want you to feel good, sir," Clint said thickly, rocking back to meet the strokes of Coulson's cock sinking into him.

"Don't you worry," Coulson said, voice low and rough. "I'm feeling _very_ good. You have an incredible ass, Clint, firm and round and so sweetly open and ready for me." Clint closed his eyes, letting himself drift on Coulson's voice and the steady, strong plunge of his cock into Clint's ass. Clint's body rocked back to meet Phil's thrusts almost automatically. This was what he was for, to be used by Coulson. 

"And you know what I like best?" Coulson went on, one hand leaving Clint's hip to wrap around his dick. Clint moaned as Coulson stroked him in time with his thrusts. "Knowing that I can have this whenever I want it." Coulson's hips snapped in hard and Clint gasped. "Knowing that you'll be wearing my plug," Coulson voice cracked and went breathless as he picked up the pace, "that you're wet and stretched and open for me, that your ass is mine to use and fill and oh, God, I can't wait to take you bare."

"Yes," Clint panted. "Yes, yes, come inside me and fill me up so that when you pull out it drips down my thighs, smear it into my skin."

"God, yes." Coulson's cock drove into Clint's ass, their hips slapping together, and then Coulson groaned deep in his chest and pulled out, so abruptly that Clint felt momentarily adrift, and then he heard Coulson jerk the condom off. He let out a tight, breathless sound and then wet heat splattered onto the small of Clint's back. Coulson had _come_ on him. Clint moaned urgently. "Wait, wait," Coulson gasped. Clint whined, but followed Coulson's urging and moved up onto the bed and over onto his back, smearing Coulson's come over Clint's skin and the sheets alike.

Coulson didn't seem to care, quickly straddling Clint's thighs before going back to stroking Clint's cock, his eyes fixed hungrily on Clint. Staring up at Coulson, Clint suddenly realized that when he came, like this, he'd stripe his belly with his own come. He'd be covered with it, back and front. "Gonna come all over myself," Clint said hoarsely.

"Yes," Coulson urged, licking his lips and rubbing his thumb hard under the head of Clint's dick. Clint gasped and jerked up into the touch, back bowing. He moaned helplessly and let himself go, slicking himself just as he'd expected. Melting into the bed afterward, Clint felt Coulson dragging his fingers through the mess on Clint's belly. Smiling hazily, Clint enjoyed the weight of Phil across his thighs and the gentle possessiveness of the touch.

Eventually Coulson murmured, "Be right back," returning quickly with a damp, warm washcloth and cleaning them both up with tender thoroughness before laying down next to Clint and pulling him into his arms, slowly stroking the length of Clint's back for a while. Gradually, Clint came up out of the warm, hazy place he'd been in. When he was all the way out of it, he stirred and nuzzled at Coulson's shoulder. "You want dinner, sir?" he asked.

"I could eat," Coulson said, but didn't move just yet. Then, "I'd prefer if you didn't call me sir, here. Everyone calls me sir; it's stopped meaning anything special."

Clint nodded, thinking. 'Coulson' would have the same problem, wouldn't it? "Phil?" Clint tried tentatively.

"That's good," Phil said warmly, and Clint pulled away from Phil's shoulder just to see him smile and to smile back. "I'll go get the food, we can eat here. But first..." He sat up and slid off the bed, retrieving the plug and disappearing into the bathroom. When Clint heard the water go on, he licked his lips and rolled from his side onto his stomach, folding his arms and resting his head on them, facing the bathroom so that he'd be able to see Phil.

When he returned to the bedroom Phil stopped to admire Clint for a moment, just like Clint had hoped he would. "Hello, my own," Phil murmured. 

Phil used plenty of lube and the plug wasn't huge, so it slid in with only a brief twinge from Clint's well-fucked ass. Clint gave a little shimmy when it settled, partly to make sure it was comfortable, partly just for the way it made Phil's eyes darken. He grinned at Phil, and Phil gave his ass a promissory squeeze. "Food first."

"Fuel is a good idea," Clint said, rolling onto his back and stretching long and slow. Phil watched with an appreciative eye and only left the room to get the food when Clint was done showing off. Clint relaxed into the bed, squeezed down on the plug inside him even though it sent a slight ache through him, and grinned at the ceiling.

~Epilogue~

Clint released the last arrow, feeling the satisfaction of finishing the exercise wash through his body. The arrow _thunked_ solidly into one of the tiny, spinning, flying targets, deactivating it and sending both arrow and target clattering to the floor of the advanced range. Clint let his awareness of the space around him relax and rose out of the half-kneeling position he'd been in, humming softly in pleasure as Phil's plug shifted inside him, the spark as it nudged his prostate like a reward for his diligence in training.

Looking up at the clock, Clint grinned when he saw that it was ten after three and Phil should be out of his meeting. They'd agreed on today, and although they hadn't talked about it that morning, the searing kiss and, "After my meeting?" that Phil had given Clint this morning assured him that they were on the same page.

As impatient as he was, Clint still took the time to reset the range and secure his bow properly. He hated it when he came down to the range to blow off some steam and saw that some jackass had left it a mess, and Phil wasn't going anywhere. He did take the elevator instead of the stairs and jog down the hallway instead of walking, though. Between the rising anticipation and the way running made the plug move inside him, Clint was half hard by the time he got to Phil's office.

The door was cracked open a bit. Excellent. Clint dropped to a walk and forced himself to take a couple normal breaths before knocking quickly, opening the door, and stepping inside. Phil looked up from his deck, saw Clint's grin, and grinned back. "Close and lock the door behind you," he said, moving his chair a bit to the side and pulling another up next to him.

Clint secured the door and crossed the room, sliding into the seat next to Phil. The Service log in page was already open on Phil's computer. "Me first, or you?" Clint asked, fighting the urge to squirm.

"You wanted to adjust your Complexity section, right?" Phil said. "Let's do yours first so that the match that goes on record is stronger."

Oh, God, that sounded good. Clint shifted eagerly, feeling warmth build as the plug moved again. "Yeah, okay."

Clint leaned slightly across Phil and logged in, then clicked through to the Complexity page and added "dirty talk" and "insertables" before switching to the Partners page. He leaned back and tried not to grin as much as Phil entered his information. The cursor hovered over the "Withdraw from match service" check box. Phil looked over at Clint. "Shall I, or do you want to?"

"You do it," Clint said, and flushed a bit when it came out breathless. Phil kissed him quickly, then checked the box and saved the changes. "Now you," Clint prompted, leaning into Phil's shoulder.

"Eager," Phil teased, but he was already logging out of Clint's account and into his own.

Clint turned, eyes still on the screen but lips brushing Phil's ear. "Tell me you aren't planning on celebrating by replacing your plug with your cock and I'll be _slightly_ less eager."

Phil's flush warmed his ear under Clint's lips, but as he quickly typed in Clint's information, apparently from memory, and checked the box, what he said was, "You know me so well, my own." The confirmation page came up, complete with a notice that the match was mutual and both records had been removed from circulation. 

It was still there, highlighted with a cheerful green box, when Phil bent Clint over the desk. 

~!~


End file.
